“Hello, mother,” Sunset put on the act her mother cared she keep up all day. “Are we doing something before we go home?”
Dimming Dusk scowled. “That is not your place. You are merely eight years of age, Sunset Shimmer. You are much too young to need to know.”
Sunset frowned as she followed her mother into her car. “I’m nine. My birthday was a week ago.”
“One, do not disrespect me. Two, we had a much more important affair than that. We do not waste time with such useless celebrations.”
Sunset felt a pressure behind her eyes. This ‘more important affair’ was a dinner being held for her great-uncle’s birthday. It’s not fair.
Sunset realized that the lady’s car had halted, and came face-to-face with the navy-toned woman’s teal eyes burning a hole through her as she turned to get out of it.
“Don’t you have something to show me?”
Remembering the note her father and mother had written for her, Sunset gulped as she pulled out the printed cardstock.
Dimming took it and read through it, smirking proudly at her daughter’s achievements. Up until she read the last line.
Dimming narrowed her eyes and stepped out of her car, motioning for Sunset to do the same.
Once both of them had arrived inside of the house, Sunset went to sprint up the stairway and hide away from the inevitable wrath of her parents.
She didn’t reach the top.
Sunset bolted upright with a soft yelp. It wasn’t every night her mind replayed horrible memories dealing with those she lived with.
Or, as someone foolish would call them, her parents.
Sunset hated that word beyond what should’ve been humanly possible. So you’re not human. The people of this world are unkempt anyways. But not us. Sunset shook her head. Shut up.
She had long since stopped believing that one day, her takers would care for her beyond simple social climbing.
She rolled her neck and looked to see the time.
4:20 AM
Sunset sighed at the numbers. Realizing that getting her extra hour of sleep would be impossible, she slipped out of bed.
Sunset shuffled through her room, ending up in her bathroom. Sunset looked up at the mirror. There was a girl in the mirror. Sunset didn’t quite recognize her. She had crimson hair with golden strands neatly waving through, and gold skin as soft as the richest silk. Looking at her face, she noticed cheeks that were positioned just right, eyes in the exact same mirrored position, lips that were just the right amount of smooth, and full lashes that the best fake lashes would envy.
But the girl in the mirror’s eyes.
The eyes, at a shallow glance, were a teal that were tinted beautifully. However, if one were to look deep into those eyes, they would see hope for a better life, hidden far beneath fear, pain, suffering, a slight anger, horrible memories, and just plain sadness that all just wished to be released.
But that small, almost insignificant amount of hope was what kept the girl going. If not for that hope, that belief that something would free her from all of her pain, then she would’ve subjected to sleep longer than she could ever achieved during life. If not for that hope, the only thing that could’ve kept her would’ve been someone who cared. But no one ever looked deep enough to notice, to see her cry for help. So that hope was all she had.
It’s interesting how much one can tell from such a simple part of the human body.
And that simple part of the human body was the only part Sunset recognized as her own. Everything else didn’t quite feel right, like a placeholder for something much more personalized and fitting.
Sunset let a breath out. She felt relatively better than she was when she woke up. That was until she noticed her soap dispenser was an inch too far to her left.
Sunset’s breathing became harsh and uneven as she rushed to fix the stupid, stupid mistake. She could feel a memory of the last time this happened bubble to the very front of her mind, blocking out all other senses.
Sunset walked to her bathroom from her desk upon hearing her father call her. “Yes, father?” she responded.
Fallen Sun was standing in the doorway, his usually dark plum face red while looking at the sink.
“I thought I raised you to be perfect, and then I come up here to find you misplaced this.” He raised up a soap dispenser that was merely an inch away from its proper place. He placed it in the correct place and opened a nearby cabinet.
Sunset responded to the outburst by apologizing. “I’m sorry, father. I promise not to do it again. If I do, I will remember to tell you and mother to punish me as fitted.” Sunset gulped as she remembered what her parents considered fitting as a punishment for a twelve-year-old.
Fallen nodded and pulled a small, shiny object out of the drawer. “Good, now I just have to convince you not to do it again.” He drew out the item, which turned out to be a quite sharp shard of glass.
Seeing the object, Sunset’s fight-or-flight instinct kicked in. She tried to run out of her room, only to come face-to-face with her father locking it in place.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, “Not until I’m done with you.” Without even a second to wait, he pinned Sunset up against a corner and placed the shard on her upper arm, ready to slice at the slightest movement.
Sunset shrunk and tried to move away, only to wince in a sharp pain when the glass sliced her arm, effectively drawing a bead of blood.
“Now, I’m going to make a little tally board of what you did wrong. First,” he pulled the shard back across her skin and made a cut. “You weren’t perfect, like we raised you to be. Second,” another cut. “Improper phrasing of an apology. You are not sorry, you wish for my forgiveness. Third,” by this time, Sunset’s arm was slightly purple at the loss of blood. “You tried to run away from my discipline. And fourth,” he drew another tally, then two more for good measure. “You dared to try to escape me.” Finally, he dropped the young girl.
Sunset nodded in confirmation. “I’ll remember that, father. May I continue my studies?” she said, keeping the tears building up from letting her drop her persona.
Fallen Sun left the room, making his way downstairs.
Sunset crawled to her desk and pushed her papers away from her. There, sitting by herself in the dark, she let it all out.
Sunset found herself in a fetal position on the floor, rocking herself back and forth to try and calm her nerves. It didn’t help. Her breaths were shallow, barely allowing any air to reach her lungs. She tried to take deep breaths, as her teachers would suggest when a less composed student would have a panic attack.
Oh god, imagine if this were happening in a public place. She tried not to imagine it, but it only brought the thought of people ridiculing her, teachers being disappointed, or her cousins ever finding out. Oh god, what if they find out about this? Sunset’s breathing only got less controlled.
Sunset tried to slow her breathing again, but to no avail. She could feel the wetness on her cheeks as she let all the tears she couldn’t shed with anyone else around out.
After about half an hour of the same repeating cycle of trials and failures to breathing, Sunset was finally able to calm herself enough to successfully turn on her shower.
And then she started crying again.
Sunset couldn’t remember the last time she didn’t feel like breaking down into her most basic set of emotions. Her “parents” told her that simple emotions were never good for the image, that such basic feelings were only suitable for either the too young or the too dumb. She was three when they first told her that.
Most people would’ve sought help, or at least somewhere to vent their troubles. She had tried that, in a journal.
Her parents had found the journal. She couldn’t remember what happened after that. The only thing she had to remind herself of the experience was the light scar on her neck.
Sunset had a lot of physical scars. Roughly about ten prominent ones on each arm, with many faded ones hidden away by time. The same went for her legs, the scars becoming more noticeable - as a result of deeper cuts - as they got further up. Scars on her stomach, scars on her back, even some on her neck.
And that was just the ones someone could see. Not that they would look close enough to notice anyways. But the scars in her mind were greater, and more affecting than any of the ones hidden away by her usual attire. As those who gave her this sufferable life made her grow up mentally faster than what was appropriate for her age, Sunset had the mentality of someone who was in their early twenties at age fifteen. However, that caused her mental growth to be stunted, as she never really had a childhood. In fact, the last time Sunset remembered ever being close to being treated like her age was when she was five, and her cousins indulged her in her first ever game of ‘hide and seek’ outside. It ended with her getting punished severely for getting dirty, as could be seen by a slightly faded scar on her stomach. That was one of the deeper ones.
Getting out of the shower, Sunset dried herself off and walked into her closet. Grabbing her clothes for the day, she freed herself of her constrictive towel as she came out of the closet.
After dressing herself, she went through her normal routine of brushing her hair, doing some last-minute changes on homework, makeup, teeth, and shoes. After that, she stepped down her stairs, grabbed some cash her parents left out for breakfast at a cafe, and headed out for school.